sorta content warning for crude and sorta ignorant thinking around sexuality, thanks, grace
Hot Pocket jokes were very acceptable Grace humor. She snort-laughed wetly, using a dangling hoodie sleeve to swipe across her nose. Already had that under the nostril soreness going on. Sick. Thanks again, Jimmy.
That very first response, the laugh and the acknowledgment that gaydar didn't clock him easy, had her deciding he was secret gay. Not closeted, but few tells. But the initial answer to follow was confusing. Neither, like specifically into non-
oh. Shit. This was new information to Grace, who admittedly believed the entire world, but especially men, were secretly seeking opportunities to pound.
Like. Jimmy, who put in all this work on how he looked and shit, kickboxing, but also fingers in her hair, wasn't DTF anyone. But still wanted to fall in love. She knew about this as a concept, didn't judge him for it, exactly? But it was difficult to wrap her own mind around, when it was a lot easier to get a boner for someone than to get anything approaching sparkly eyed.
"No shit, huh?" she said, turning to face him as she stood against the bed, leaning the backs of her legs to it as she stepped out of her boots.
"So you wanna get married, but not, like."In true Grace form, she made a cavernous fist with one hand, then jammed her opposite index finger into it. Thrice.
Hey, did you still jerk off if you were ace? Or did you just never, like.
Whoa.